


Winter Bird

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Established Relationship, F/F, Family Issues, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Post-Prison, Self-Harm, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-13 14:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: Shocking news leads Bridget and Franky on a downward spiral.
Relationships: Franky Doyle & Bridget Westfall, Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 24
Kudos: 65





	1. Early Signs

The first time Franky noticed, it flew right over her head because like it would be to any other person, it was just ‘one of those things’. It was nothing heavily out of the ordinary, no rising flag or drastic cause for concern, but then, it never really is, is it?

Heat sat upon their shoulders and for Bridget in particular, the exhaustion was eating away at the pit of her stomach like rats fleeing from the flames of a dozen candles. Her chest was alight, like a smoking fire smouldering in the dead of night, so when the first bench in what seemed like miles appeared in the close distance, she wasted no time in flopping herself right on it.

Naturally, Franky grinned. She had that zestful nature and racy wit roll off her in an unstoppable force. Bridget loved that so much about her.

Of course, the woman then took the mick and Bridget let her. If the shoe was on the other foot, she’d laugh too.

Unscrewing the lid from her bottled water, Franky took a big gulp and eyed a passed-out Bridget on the planks of wood. “You good?” She asked. After a few pants, the psychologist responded: “Not really. Been a long time since I ran two miles, Franky.” She rested a hand to her hip. A painful stitch had begun throbbing there.

Bemused, Franky’s posture slacked. She swiped her clammy forehead with the back of her hand and moved to join Bridget on the bench. “Okay, one minute and we get going again.” She was more than keen to up the peak of her personal best with steady improvement. Bridget, on the other hand –

She let out a raspy breath and looked to Franky in stun. It was hard to ignore that miniature glimmer of disappointment and self-pity brewing within herself. For some reason, she never really expected to feel this much defeat from a casual afternoon run. With that in mind though, it wasn’t exactly surprising. These days Bridget felt as though she tended to overestimate her mental and physical capabilities. The more that crept into her mind, the more she realised how it wasn’t the same for Franky. The woman was sharp as a pin, nuanced in her work and was practically unstoppable. From where Bridget was standing, her girlfriend was the equivalent to someone standing on top of the world. People could easily admire and why shouldn’t they? Her life story, not matter much Franky kept wraps on her private life from the media, would always intrigue people and that was never going away. Amid their frustrations and reluctance, they’d come to peace with it eventually. For the most part, that is.

“You ready?” Franky said, breaking Bridget’s thought process. She looked at her, momentarily thrown.

“That was not a minute.”

“You’re joking? That was like three, Gidget.”

Bridget sighed but not because she was exhausted (well, she did because of that very reason…) But she also sighed because the cheeky glimmer in Franky’s eye wasn’t just teasing, it was also filled with the truth. Making a clicking sound with her tongue, Franky stood on her feet, head blocking the sun, and looked down at Bridget. She outreached the bottle of water and dangled it about in front of her.

“Come on, Cleopatra,” Franky joked.

Playfully annoyed, Bridget grabbed the bottle from her grasp. “Don’t call me that,” she jokingly warned, though still a little self-conscious about it. The plastic crunched as she sipped down the last few mouthfuls of the liquid. After, Franky hefted Bridget to her feet and playfully slapped her rear.

The low Melbourne sun had begun to cast its peach tint against the city, diminishing the light and giving a cool breeze to the air. She pulled the psychologist gently by the fingers to match her pace and squinted at the horizon.

“How long until we get home?” Bridget asked. She was free of shame and done suppressing that question for the last hour. A hot bath, a cup of tea and a long nap were certainly in order.

“You’re unbelievable,” the paralegal quipped with a gentle scoff. She broke into a smile when Bridget gave her a very specific look. “Fine, fine, we’ll walk our way back, alright?” Satisfied, Bridget gave Franky a winning smile. “But we're going again this time next week, I’m not letting ya get out of it that easily,” Franky compromised, swinging her arms idly.

With a sigh, Bridget nodded. She could compromise.

The following week was when cracks started to appear, and Franky could not disregard her troubling thoughts that started from fragments of her concern.

Stood at the threshold of the bedroom, Bridget dimmed the lighting. She bit her lip in conflict and looked over at Franky, who was tucked under their duvet, head resting on a pillow and scrolling through her phone with the white glow blanching her face. They were both exhausted from the day which resulted in a quick dinner over short-lived conversations and Bridget partly wished she hadn’t left it this long to find her backbone and bring herself to discuss the topic to her partner. Maybe when they were less tired and more open it would’ve made this seem easier. Oh well. No point dwelling on that right now.

With her arms folded, she made her way into the room and sat at the foot of the bed, facing away from Franky. The woman still had her squinting eyes fixed to the device. Bridget inhaled. They both had work early and the longer she kept procrastinating about this, the more likely it was that she’d bail. Chances were, Franky would probably doze off into a peaceful slumber soon and Bridget would only end up rolling onto her side in a restless effort to find sleep, too.

“Could you do me a favour tomorrow?” Bridget asked. She kept it simple because favours were simple and that’s exactly what this was. Simple and not serious.

“Hm?” Franky said, not looking up.

Bridget turned on an angle to half-face the woman and started to fiddle with the sleeve of her gown. Franky often overthought and overreacted in situations where rational thinking is preferably desired.

“Could you drop me off at the GP after my shift?” As expected, that earned Franky’s immediate attention. She dropped her phone face down on her chest and frowned a little.

“Why, what’s up?”

Of course, Bridget could have always just gone straight there herself. Made up some running late cover story so that she wouldn’t be left figuring out how to vanquish this arise of worry here and now. But Franky was bound to be surprised and that was anything but unreasonable. Flattering in a way. Besides, lying would just leave Bridget guilt-riddled knowing Franky would easily break her walls to disclose any of her concerns these days. After everything they’d been through, it took long enough for each of them to realise that their strength came with working through tough times together.

And this, for one, was not as serious as some of the ordeals they’d been stuck in. Nothing would ever compare to their time in the Pennisi-murder shit-creek.

Bridget licked her lips. “I don’t really know; I’ve just been feeling…” She paused to muster a word. “Restless lately.”

She could see Franky’s brows push together in confusion and realised she probably required further elaboration. “It’s nothing to worry about, I’m just losing my appetite and because of that, I feel tired all the time.” The psychologist forced a smile and found Franky’s hand to squeeze. “I thought it would be worth just checking out. It’ll be nothing, it’s just Vera that’s stressing,” Bridget explained.

It was true that Vera did have a hand in convincing Bridget that a visit to the doctors would be worthwhile. If she hadn’t expressed her concern, then Bridget wouldn’t have considered or even spared a thought to get seen to and would’ve pushed it aside to press on. She didn’t have time to be sick or reschedule and shuffle things around, and to be frank, Bridget really didn’t see the need to seek medical advice originally. But Vera was a close friend and her opinion meant something to her. When she pondered over it, Bridget realised she’d probably offer the same advice to Vera and found it was better off not being a hypocrite about it.

For a while, Franky’s eyes glimmered with a mixture of confusion and something unreadable until the corner of her mouth twisted into a benign smile. She dropped her gaze to their hands and squeezed Bridget’s back.

“Yeah, course,” she said, and smiled before adding, “Sure you’re okay?”

Bridget let out a dainty breath of air and beamed. “Right as rain.” She could’ve sworn a flicker a scepticism played on Franky’s face briefly until she drew the covers down and gestured Bridget to the space next to her. Smiling, the psychologist discarded her silky gown and slipped into the sheets into Franky’s welcoming arms. The paralegal reached over to the bedside cabinet and took a moment to appreciate the small, framed photograph of the two of them together at Bondi Beach before dimming the lights. She loved that day.

“I wish I could stay off tomorrow,” Franky mumbled, dipping her head into Bridget’s side as she wrapped her arms around the woman’s smaller form. A little smirk met Bridget’s lips and she rolled herself over to meet Franky’s dark, piercing eyes looking over her. The paralegal’s breath came in short, heavy puffs against the blankets and it wasn’t hard for Bridget to sense the wariness roll off with the heat from her body. She’d been breaking her back, working non-stop all week and barely paused to have a moment's rest. Bridget wasn’t sure what she was looking at on her phone earlier, but it wasn’t unlikely to assume it was something to do with work.

“Maybe you should.”

Franky scoffed and threw an arm behind her head. “Don’t think that’ll go down well with Miles,” she said, looking at the ceiling. Sometimes it pained Bridget to witness a flicker of self-doubt in Franky’s eyes.

“How’s the new girl, um…What’s-her-name?” Bridget murmured.

“A bloody ditz.”

“University graduate?”

“Yep,” Franky breathed. Bridget chuckled and rolled onto her right side.

“I’m sure she just needs a chance to prove herself,” she said, noticing Franky’s mind working.

“They’ve put her in main office.” Franky finally blurted out. Her feelings on it weren’t exposed, especially since her voice remained stoic, but Bridget knew there was something irritating beneath her skin. Anyone else might mistake it for jealousy, but Bridget knew it wasn’t that.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Franky sighed and looked at Bridget. “Well, no, it’s just…She’s been there, what, two fuckin’ minutes?”

The psychologist nodded. Ah, that was it.

“Maybe her resume speaks for itself.”

“Yeah that, or she’s giving Miles a few favours,” Franky air-quoted the word.

Bridget snorted. “Come on, you know that’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is that I escape and prove my innocence, but they still don’t trust me?”

“Baby, I’m sure they’re just readjusting to everything that’s happened the last couple of months, yeah?”

“What, and I’m not?” Franky raised a brow and looked back at the ceiling. Her breath came out in a long sigh. “Look I know I’m going to sound paranoid but innocent or not, me being there is making us lose out to clients, I know it.”

Bridget propped herself up on her elbow and frowned to belie her confusion. Had what she’d witnessed been false? “What do you mean? You’re great at your job, Fessler and Miles, they know that.”

“Yeah, only when it suits them,” Franky grumbled.

The two fell into brief silence as each of them pondered what to say. Bridget’s mouth formed a sympathetic smile as she was left unsure. Perhaps she’d got it wrong. She sunk her body lower into the sheets and pressed closer to Franky, leaving a small kiss to her shoulder blade.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Night, baby,” Bridget whispered.

After a while of keeping her eyes shut, Bridget knew it was hopeless. She couldn’t sleep, and by rustling sounds and dips in the mattress from Franky’s discreet movements, it was apparent Franky couldn’t either.

“Gidge,” Franky muttered by Bridget’s side. The house was that quiet, her voice seemed loud amid the darkness surrounding the room. “You awake?” The psychologist’s eyes slowly peeled open and she squinted towards the mini alarm clock. 1 am. Nice. She inhaled and moved onto her back so that she could see Franky.

“Mmhm,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Cool. Sorry.” Franky snaked her arms back around her girlfriend and burrowed her face into the back of her neck. “Just can’t sleep, that’s all.”

“That makes two of us,” Bridget said, smiling sultry against the pillow.

“Really?” Franky asked, surprised. “You’re usually out like a baby.”

“Are you tired?”

The paralegal thought about it. Yes and no. She was tired of trying to prove herself over and over and she was tired in the literal sense but fuck it. _Trying_ clearly wasn’t working for her either way. “Nup,” came her reply. “What about you?”

Bridget blinked and looked away, knowing Franky couldn’t see her properly in the dark.

“Gidget?” Franky questioned, thinking Bridget might have dozed off right then.

“No.” Bridget lied. Franky inhaled and gently squeezed Bridget’s body – the heat of each other’s forms colliding beneath the blankets.

“Suppose we’ll just have to lie here then.”

The psychologist smirked and ran her fingers along Franky’s arm. “Or we could have some fun,” she proposed. Grinning, Franky unlinked her arms from around the woman’s body and reached over to flick on the lamp.

“Oh yeah? What kind of fun did you have in mind?” She said, eyes glittering with anticipation. Saying nothing, Bridget sunk under Franky’s body and inhaled calmly. She took her hands to roam along the thin layer of cotton fabric covering the woman’s chest and settled them on her shoulders; pushing the woman to sit. Chuckles from the brunette filled the room as she slipped out of the garment, throwing it aside.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Bridget admitted, screwing her eyes closed. She moved her head to grant access to her neck when Franky leaned down to trail a line of fiery kisses from there to her collarbone.

“Mm, I believe that you dirty bird,” Franky husked against her lover’s skin. She reached for Bridget’s shorts until the woman’s hands clasped hers, stopping her.

“No,” the blonde said. “My idea, my turn first.” Franky rolled her head back and chortled, licking her lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” she surrendered herself, awaiting Bridget’s next move. “Busy day tomorrow?” Franky mumbled, pressing her chest into Bridget’s caressing hands. The woman muffled something misheard when she took her mouth to the valley in between Franky’s breasts.

Rolling her neck back, the paralegal stifled a groan. Bridget knew Franky’s body better than anything else. The sensitive spots. Where to tease and what she liked most. She could easily tell it was hard for the woman to keep wraps on her impatience and was holding with everything she had to keep herself from lunging forward to take control. Sometimes Franky found it hard not being in charge and taking it slow.

Her breathing increased when Bridget found the drawstrings of her pants and tugged them loose – painfully slow. She watched the psychologist intently, with only the sounds of their breathing filling the room and sighed with delight when Bridget ravelled the fabric down her legs and dipped her fingers into the wet cotton. She brushed between Franky’s folds, earning a deep shiver that was strong enough to form goosebumps from her tailbone to the back of her neck.

“That wet already?” Bridget purred. She was rewarded with a soft moan that doubled as an answer and then Franky shuffled herself quickly, removing her shorts and underwear before attempting to seek relief with one simple, pleading look.

“Gidge…” Franky whined. Soft-eyed, dazed, shivering with anticipation. The psychologist was struggling to suppress her pity for much longer. She trailed her fingers up Franky’s stomach, eventually meeting her breasts, and cupped each one before pressing her tongue to the left bud. A low growl rumbled in the pit of Franky’s throat when she arched her back, pressing herself closer. “Oh, god,” she sighed.

Impatient, the paralegal grasped Bridget’s hand and lowered it to her most desired area. Their eyes found each other and spoke the same language. Bridget wasted no time sinking her fingers into the slick heat.

It didn’t take Franky long to get close and she rode her climax out, shuddering and relishing in the feeling of tingly sensations buzzing all over her body. She held Bridget close and tight, with soft pants and gasps of air filling the space between them. After her body settled, she clung to Bridget and allowed the welcoming sleepiness to wash over her bones.

“Bridget?” Franky murmured, gently brushing strands of hair away from the woman’s face. She leaned down to leave a kiss on her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much, ya know?”

Bridget chuckled against Franky’s chest, listening to the soft thump of her heart beneath the skin. “I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”

They soon succumbed to a peaceful sleep that would last only until the break of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a heavily angst fic. Strap yourselves in.
> 
> (But there are angst-free Christmas fics coming up to make up for it...)


	2. Pages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Actually posting something on-schedule? Unheard of.

Sitting on the vinyl flooring of the kitchen cross-legged, Franky rubbed her eyes tiredly. She had the documents for Jo Miller’s case spread out in front of her, waiting to be organised and placed immaculately in that annoying green folder supplied by Legal Relief. Franky was _always_ on the ball when it came to filing all the important stuff in a required orderly fashion, yet when it came to this case, she’d let it slip.

Her stiff jaw slackened to release a yawn and she found her concentration shrinking from the ribbon of tension behind her eyeballs. A headache was threatening to discourage any prior motivation she had set out for the day, and the aching cloud had started to expand from one side of her temple to the other.

After a half-hour of getting her work resources together, Franky forced down a couple of aspirin though she barely saw a justification for them. Her body defied painkillers of any form.

When she arrived at work (late) after meeting with Zoe Stockwell, the lawyer Franky was liaising with for the case, she headed straight for the staff room to the abused coffee machine sitting by the fridge. It probably wasn’t in her best interests to wolf down a hot cup of caffeine on an empty churning stomach, but she quickly decided it was a necessity to get through the day.

The meeting with Stockwell at the café was, as usual, fruitless and uneventful and Franky remembered, swallowing a sip of every office worker’s companion, just how undependable she felt under the unspoken qualm aimed towards herself through wavering glances of uncertainty. Unfortunately for Ms Stockwell, no matter how well presented she was, from the appearance to her expandable sling of law jargon, her tight mannerisms and shifts of scepticism were as easy as reading words off a page to Franky. The woman didn’t trust her, and it was blatantly obvious to see. It wasn’t anything new for Franky, either. Most of her life, she’d grew up deemed to society’s decision that foster kids were bound to end up as unworthy, criminal scumbags.

The thought made her snort in pity. She guessed there was some truth to that when she factored in the consideration for herself. Even if she had, just barely, rectified most of the wrongs in her life, it wasn’t always easy for people to see past the front or behind the lines of what the media portrayed her as. An inked violent hot-head. A lost cause.

“Franky,” a voice behind her snapped Franky from her thoughts. It was Mr Strathairn. She muttered a reply before realising the man was addressing and not regarding her. “There’s a man here to see you. Said it’s important. Daniel Cleon. Do you know him?” He said. Franky shrugged candidly.

“Right, well, he insisted to see you. I said I’d ask if you’d talk with him in one of the office rooms.”

“Ah. So you’re putting me up for interviews now? Just checking if I’m available?”

Strathairn held his breath, then inhaled deeply with restlessness. He anticipated a level of resentment to come from the woman, but his preparation didn’t make it any less unpleasant.

“He’s not a member of the press, Franky, I made sure.”

“What’s it about?”

“He didn’t mention.”

Franky’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t ask?”

“I did but he said it’s something he wanted to talk to you about directly,” Strathairn said after a sigh. He paused, juggling with an idea. “I can ask him to leave if you’d prefer that?”

A moment of silence hung between the two as a blank-faced Franky crossed her arms and considered the propositions.

“You know,” she begun, the remainder of her coffee swishing as she tipped it down the sink and placed the mug on the side. She stepped a little closer – like it was a secret. “If I worked back in main, I’d have my own office to do this shit in.” Franky smiled, looking at her boss in the eye. She allowed the words to hang in the air for a while; the vestiges of her patience clinging on by a strand before she stepped aside to walk past him. “Oh, and I’m not cleaning that,” Franky gestured to the mug. “Get Andy to, he never cleans up after himself.”

Spotting the man wasn’t hard. The place had only opened twenty minutes ago, so apart from drowsy, half-asleep paralegals roaming the office floor, the bloke with the long, beige coat almost touching the carpet stuck out like a sore thumb. He was stood by the shelves of books looking around as Franky approached, studying him as she got closer. He had dark, side-parted hair and a faint beard. Middle-aged, she supposed. Some combined look of Doctor Who and a knock-off detective.

Franky cleared her throat and the man turned his face to look at her. He wore a poised yet eager expression. “Oh, Franky, hi,” he smiled, holding his hand out. She blinked before she gave it a perfunctory shake.

“That’s me,” Franky remarked.

“I’m Daniel Cleon. I was just wondering if I could talk to you for a minute or two, it won’t take long.”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” Franky conceded with a shrug. She ushered him into Strathairn’s office and closed the door after him. After settling into opposite chairs, Franky ran her fingers through her sleek, brown hair and safely tucked herself behind the desk. It was wise. The guy clearly wasn’t there as a client to reach out for her legal expertise and whatever he was yet to propose or disclose didn’t exactly set in a comfortable feeling.

Daniel brushed down his jacket and spoke first. “I’m from Mirgo Publishing and basically we’re looking for a story to tell. We want that story to be yours. A book about your life.”

He waited a good moment to allow the words to set in. Franky stared, and damn well could have nearly bubbled up at the absurdity of the sentence. Swallowing, Daniel sidestepped Franky’s look of utter bewilderment by continuing. “I can’t speak for you, obviously –”

“Obviously,” Franky intervened, arms across her chest as she swivelled gently side to side in the big chair.

“But the press and media have been all over you since the escape, right? Before then, even. All trying to poke around and find an angle to box you in. And it’s all in their narrative. The way they want to see you. We want to hear from you. Your story.”

“And what makes you different from them?” Franky asked, not like she was actually considering it. Usually, she would’ve flipped the middle finger in a heartbeat, but it was her disbelief and humour of the whole thing keeping her vastly intrigued. This was ridiculously asinine.

“It’s your life. Your narrative. Everyone’s trying to peep through the blinds and get what they can. You give them something to read about and they lay off.”

Franky scoffed. A flippant smirk followed. “So you reckon my life story is gonna make you a hit and get the cunts off my back?”

Daniel sighed and shrugged. He wasn’t dishonest. “Mutually beneficial.”

“Yeah, you would say that. I don’t even write.”

“We wouldn’t make you do it on your own.”

The paralegal bit her lip and sat back in the chair as silence overtook conversation. “Look, mate,” she started, trying to sound as composed and level as possible by removing her smirk and the bemusement from her voice. “I don’t do interviews because my life’s no one else’s business. I don’t care what they choose to believe from fact to fiction. You think I’m not used to having bullshit reported about me by now? I don’t care about that. The people out there, they can read what they want, it’s just words. They don’t care if it comes from me or some half-assed journalist. Publicity is publicity. My narrative or not isn’t going to stop the wade off tabloid photographers trying to get their snap of the week of me out shopping, or taking my sister to the park, or walking the neighbour’s dog,” Franky listed. “If anything came from this, it’d be more attention and I’m not down for that. Neither is my family.” She sat upright in the chair and met the man’s eyes to assess if her words had made any effect. She watched him muster a response.

“No, I completely understand, honestly,” Daniel said, reaching into his pocket. He slid something across the table. “All I’m asking is that you think it over, that’s it.” Franky’s eyes dropped to a small business card with a name, number, email and firm location on it. “And if the answer’s still no, then that’s perfectly alright. I just appreciate you speaking to me.”

Franky took the card and looked at Daniel. She forced a disarming smile before she escorted the man out the room and out of the premises.

After seeing him out, Franky marched over to her boss and spoke with a low, gruff voice. “So much for ‘not a member of the press’ the idiot wanted a bloody book deal of my life story.”

Mr Strathairn heavily sighed, putting away a buff folder in a gap in the shelves. “Crikey.”

She expected a bit more and waited for it, standing her ground wide-eyed. He was distracted and disinterested. “So, next time he comes sniffing around, you’ll get rid of him, right? And the time after that?”

“I will, Franky. Look, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware he had ill intentions.” He turned around, collecting a file off the side of a desk and held it out to Franky. “Give this to Melanie, will you please.” Franky’s muscles tensed and her jaw tightened hearing that name. Him and Fessler’s golden girl.

“Course. No wukkas.” She grunted, pulling the folder from his grasp and holding onto it with needless force. “I’ll be her personal fucking skivvy for the day,” Franky added quietly, walking away.

She made her way to the confined space of the Ladies and left the folder on the sink. The sudden silence was peaceful as the absence of all sound left her ears, and Franky willed herself to composure before she dialled Bridget’s number and felt herself ease from tension.

“Heya,” she said, feeling relieved to hear that raspy voice pick up the phone.

“Wasn’t expecting to get a call from you this early,” Bridget replied, smoothly. She sounded relaxed. That was good, Franky thought.

“Well, I wanted to hear ya voice. Sorry, was I meant to start the conversation with some grand, romantic gesture?” The paralegal teased, grinning as she imagined the blonde, whose chuckle tickled her ear. “You’ll never guess what.” Franky’s voice grew serious.

“What?”

“Some bloke from this publishing agency came into work asking to see me because they want me to write a frigging book about my life.”

Bridget breathed a laugh down the phone. “_What_?”

“Yeah, I know. He kept banging on about the media and how me shitting out a novel from my point of view would be mutually beneficial.”

“Well, he would say that.”

“I know. That’s what I said,” Franky mumbled, staring at the small card in between her fingers.

The was a comfortable silence between the two and Franky sensed Bridget stifling a yawn. “How are you?” Franky asked, tentative.

“Tired,” Bridget said on a small laugh. The paralegal smirked in response.

“Late sex will do that to you.”

“I never said I regretted it,” The psychologist murmured. The tone in Bridget’s voice was pivotal to the sudden flush of warmth flooding Franky’s chest. Although those words were something she didn’t know she longed to hear, Franky bit her smile away and pursed her lips with hesitation.

“I was actually leaning more on the other thing, Gidget.”

“I know what you meant, baby,” Bridget said – a gentle sigh following on.

Another quiet moment occupied the space, though this time, for whatever reason, it felt tenser.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Franky frowned, unconvinced at the deflated response. She pushed her concern aside, nonetheless. “Okay. Well, I better get off, I need to get this file to Lar-dee-dar. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Bridget agreed. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe.”


	3. Limbo

The surge of anger welled within Franky. Her fists clenched and the muscles in her face tightened up. Why? All because she couldn’t resist the temptation dangling on a string right in front of her. It was only meant to be a peek and that’s what it was, at first. Then she became engrossed and fixated to the top layer of A4 that was glowing and enriched with mouth-opening details. She ended up delving into the notes hungrily.

It was strictly confidential. Marked for the case handler’s eyes only. This type of shit could get her suspended faster than her brain and tongue’s combined capability to muster up an excuse for the curiosity winning her over…. With that in consideration, Franky’s emerald eyes tore away from the forbidden file and the red that she saw finally cooled into green. She reminded herself abruptly from that point that jealousy was crass and grown women should not get blinded by jealousy so easily.

Franky fetched herself lunch from the Tupperware in the fridge; relishing from the invigoration a simple salad gave her before she made her way upstairs to deliver the file she could barely cling on to.

Melanie was at her desk – supposed to be conducting research or at least doing anything relevant to her job (which wasn’t scrolling through Snapchat’s latest filters, for one thing.)

“Ahem,” Franky cleared her throat, dropping the weighty file down on the desk in front of the woman. “That’s for you.”

“Oh thanks, Franky,” blondie beamed. She put her phone away and placed the documents to aside. Franky noticed a small, wooden crate filled with notepads, pens, small desk plants and other typical office equipment beside Melanie’s feet.

“So, when are you leaving us?” Franky asked for the sake of conversation. She couldn’t sound any less interested if she tried, however.

“Tomorrow. I just thought I’d get everything sorted now instead of leaving it all last minute. Actually…” Melanie said after a pause. “I wanted to ask if you had any advice or anything? I mean, you’ve been here longer than me and, well, I’m a bit worried I might muck up.”

Franky could have laughed.

Instead, she swallowed thickly and felt a pang of instant guilt ring within her. Her eyes fell to the office carpet as she took a small reflection upon herself. A couple of years ago she was in this younger woman’s shoes. And then she realised it wasn’t Melanie’s fault for the way she was feeling at all. It was her own paranoia and self-doubt to blame.

A sympathetic sigh escaped at Melanie’s unintentional prophetic statement. Thing was, she was bound to fuck up big or small in some way and it was going to happen sooner or later. Unsure if it was the keen glimmer in her brown eyes or the conscious smile below them, or even just the simple request itself, whichever it was gave Franky a sense of appreciation and self-worth to know that somebody thought so highly of her.

“Um, I don’t really know about mentoring but…” Fuck it. Franky’s lips quirked into a subtle smile. “We could do lunch sometime?” As expected, Melanie’s face lit up with gratitude.

“That’d be great. Thanks for that.”

Franky nodded and then left to continue with her duties.

The next five hours whirred by in a blur. Franky collected her keys and belongings before she stepped out into a crisp wind nipping at the skin of her cheeks. The early evening presented a dim orange that stretched its way across the sky from the west to the east. She took a deep, sharp breath; finding the cool air filling her nostrils a herald that indicated the rollover from Summer to Autumn. At the door of the driver’s seat, Franky paused to close her eyes and allowed herself the time to just enjoy the feel of chilly wind colliding with her face. Wentworth gave Franky a comprehension of all the simple, tiny things in life that were worth appreciating.

The slow drive to Life Solutions left the paralegal feeling pensive as her fists gripped the wheel. The problem was that this pensive state wasn’t a conclusion of a straightforward stack of worries. Instead, it was a white room staring at her from the hollow tunnels in her mind. A jarring limbo that served no purpose except to taunt and jeer at her which created a nauseating pulse in her throat. It was there as a reminder that she wasn’t entirely free and there would always be a part of her haunted by the past. Sometimes Franky thought the sand timer of her life would run out before she ever completely outran it.

Her fingers drummed rhythmically on the faux leather of the wheel as Franky waited. She felt the metal of the ring around the finger of her left hand dig into the skin with every gentle thump. Franky’s eyes dropped to the band and softened when she smiled, remembering Bridget first admiration of it and laughing as she said it looked like an engagement ring. At the time, Franky hadn’t thought of it as such. Or, maybe she did, subconsciously, but the idea of informing the world that Franky Doyle was unavailable – that she was committed to a serious partnership – had blossomed into her own little way of pretending that her and Bridget’s relationship was that one step further than it actually was. The ring gave Franky two good excuses, one of which was to quickly whisk away from the awkward, needy promiscuous remarks from both women and men whenever she was coerced into a work night out. The other, and Franky’s favourite excuse that the simple yet delicate looking piece of jewellery offered, was that she could quietly call Bridget her wife without it feeling needless or awkward. It was an inside joke they both shared and held close because it reminded them that regardless of any flashing lights or unwarranted headlines, there were still secrets about their relationship hidden from the world and kept personal in smart but silly ways.

The sudden knock on her window made Franky jolt in her seat and she exhaled a shaky laugh after realising it was Bridget.

“Hey,” the woman greeted, jacket rustling as she sat herself down in the passenger seat. Her voice was soft, like crushed velvet, and it made Franky’s muscles sag and slacken into a fresh feeling of comfort. They leaned close to share a soft loving kiss which they found reluctant to pull away from.

“How was your day?” Franky asked softly whilst Bridget clipped her seat belt in.

“Pretty uneventful, really.” She pulled the sun visor down to catch a quick glimpse in the mirror and brushed through strands of honey-blonde hair with her fingers. “What about you? Hectic shift?”

“_Long_ shift,” Franky corrected, sighing delicately. Bridget arched a brow and produced a smile. “But nah. I’m sick of talking about work,” The paralegal rolled her head back in a prompting manner. “I’d rather talk about you.”

Franky’s embodiment of cheekiness seemed to wholly dissipate and noticing it, Bridget’s posture became a little stiffer. Her demeanour let on a smile, anyway, as some form of camouflage (whether she intended it to act as that or not.) “Well,” she said coyly, tilting her head closer to Franky’s. “I’m sure there’s time for that a bit later.” Her blue eyes twinkled with promise, implying there wouldn’t be much “talking” involved and the paralegal could have shivered. A breath spilled from Franky’s lips as if she was mulling the premise over.

“What – another late night?” She grinned and a secret, fast thrill of ease grew in Bridget when she realised that Franky had set aside any cards of concern she had out at the ready.

“I guess we’ll see.”

Franky bubbled up in a chortle and exclaimed merrily. “Jesus, Gidge. You really know how to make a girl feel all light after a heavy day, don’t ya?” It was a remark that both worked as a statement and a question. “You got everything?” She said, grinning whilst she twisted her key in the ignition.

Bridget nodded and looked forward; her smile becoming faint. “Got everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend that this was posted before midnight so that it *technically* isn't two days late...Apologies for the shortness of this one. This chapter is more of a stepping stone for bigger events to come in the later chapters of the fic.


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